Writing the third: Kathy: I haven’t written much today so sorry qwq

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The kid stares into the mirror At the body they possess So strange to find such a monopolised object in their possession Completely their own Free to make choices and alterations They can cut it's hair and paint it's nails Use its voice and move it's arms So strange how many people want it And to control it, power over it Ravaging like wolfs around a slab of meat Funny how they want it more than the kid Not entirely sure if they like it or not Tilting their head to the side Wanting to like it, wanting to love it Because they love their mum And their mum said "love yourself"

It's pretty, the body in the mirror It contains about a billion flaws that society could peck at Like vultures, built to tear flesh With bare teeth and surgical scalpels Make-up brushes and camera angels But they pay no mind They never liked society And their mum's lesson was so much nicer

Plus to have something so many people want? Autonomy over something in which its control is so sought after? Feels pretty powerful Freedom tastes pretty Like flowers in hair and rosy cheeks Short clothes in nightmare heat Wolfs and hounds at its feet

But still, Staring in the mirror for so long, Distorts the lens, Yes the body is pretty but is it yours? You use it as a tool To fulfil your desires Extend an arm to grab the cup Kick your leg to close the door You enjoy it objectively You enjoy the power You enjoy it as a pawn on your chess table Facinated that only you can move the piece

But what if it was another colour? Would you like it more? Would if feel like yours?

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Fall through into the face of death En guard, bear arms! Pour le chateau, pour the gateau Down gullible throats, a beverage Blood Clots in my guts And palisades turn to rust Dust in my gullet as the sweet scent of Betrayal It irks me, and I yearn for peace of mind Yet my battlements are hoarse, My mind rotting like my corpse I sink into my hearse and swallow The pill, I scream out and bubble in blood

This is how to lack self love

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I like myself, like I genuinely do, I like my interests I like my hobbies I like that that's what gives me enjoyment, I like the way I look, I like the way I act (sometimes) , I like my creativity, my writing, my art, I like my room and my family, I like my style and my wishes, I like my friends, I like my life, I think it's fun, I even like my problems, I think they are very me, sometimes I look at myself and the things I do and think "no one else could be living this life" I think it's so perfect for me and I know that's because it's mine and therefore tailored to me but I have so much freedom, I can act apon my wishes, talk to people I love, watch things I enjoy, I get to create art, I get to learn things, I get to do puzzles and hyperfixate, I get to see my family every other week, I get to walk my dogs and watch tv with my mum, I get to text my girlfriend, I get to play roblox with my sibling, I get to go outside and taste the air, I get to brush my hair and have warm showers, I get to have a 16+ railcard, I get to go to college, I get to to have a provisional licence I get to sit in the sun, and watch my scars darken along with my skin, because I made it to 16;